CLOCKMAKERS: A Collection of Short Stories
by PilWoo
Summary: Written by 8 different authors/friends who were all asked to write their own short story. The only rule was, it had to have something to do with a clock maker. Some are funny, some are a bit more serious, but all are about the idea of time.
1. Pendulum by Joey Mauro

Pendulum

by: Joey Mauro

Abe stroked his long white beard and looked lovingly at his latest piece of art as he finished putting the last screw into it. He KNEW it was art, after all. Nowadays, he thought, people didn't appreciate clock making. What he finished was a clock that may be seen at the top of a church or in the front of town hall, but this clock in particular would never see anything similar to those...it was just, another clock, and it would stay in Abe's house.

Abe was 85, he had been making and repairing clocks all his life, and he loved it. He had been making clocks at "Barnie Brother's Clocks" since he was 22. Every year, Abe's fellow employees seemed to be less and less enthusiastic about clock making; to them, it was just a job, and they treated it as if they were manufacturing potato chips or license plates. Abe would always be nostalgic, always looking back at the past hoping it would be that time again. He kept mostly to himself in his later years. He found it harder to get along with new people every year, plus, he really didn't like most of them anyway.

However, there was Stevie Donner. Stevie was a young kid, 25 years of age. Abe noticed Stevie's interest and love for clock making. Stevie reminded Abe of himself when he was younger. They had become very good friends, they would meet at Abe's house all the time and exchange stories while making a new personal peace.

Abe was still contemplating as he looked at his latest work. He thought for a long while, and decided he was going to tell Stevie something that was very important to him. He called Stevie on the phone and asked him to meet him at his house.

Stevie knew that whatever was going to happen was serious. He softly and nervously knocked on the door. Abe greeted him with joy as they sat down next to the new clock. "Now, Stevie", Abe whispered. "I have to tell you something that may sound a bit strange and unbelievable.". "Don't worry Abe, you can tell me", Stevie said with care and assertion. "Well", Abe said nervously, "I made a clock....that does something quite interesting, but I don't want to attempt to use it, unless I have someone with me. Someone who knows clocks.", "What, um....does it do?" Steve said with a bit of fear. "Here I'll show you" Abe had gotten up from his chair and lead him to the basement.

As Stevie walked down to the dank, unfurnished cellar, he began to see a grandfather clock. There it stood, it was at least 10 feet tall, and 4 feet wide. "Now look Stevie, I'm going to have to be blunt." Abe blurted out. "Please go ahead", said Stevie. "Okay....", he sighed, "I believe that this clock can travel to the past." Stevie immediately thought Abe was crazy. "uh...." Stevie stuttered. "Look, do you see the glass door in the clock with the pendulum inside it?" asked Abe. Stevie nodded. "All I ask" Abe said with innocence, "is that you and me go in that door.", "Alright, fine." Stevie said, he knew it would be the quickest way, to end all of this and go back home.

Abe had turned back the hands of the clock many times and climbed down from the ladder . Abe insisted that Stevie go though the door first. Once Stevie had done so, Abe cautiously shuffled in afterwards. Abe looked forward and shut the glass door. The glass door made a loud and an abrupt *click*. Before both Stevie's and Abe's eyes, the basement and everything outside of the clock seemed to burn away like film melting in front of a theater screen.

After a few moments, a new world began to fade into existence. It was a fully furnished room with a rug, couch, and numerous, beautiful clocks. Stevie was in complete awe. Suddenly he began to hear a voice, "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?". Abe realized that, the voice was that of Orson Welles, from the radio show, The Shadow. He turned in excitement and noticed the big radio that the voice was coming from. The two had traveled back to the 1940s, Abe's favorite time during his life. Abe and Stevie both walked out of the clock. Abe was overjoyed, he could not believe what he had accomplished. Stevie began to join in on the excitement. Abe was in the same house he had been in when he was in his 20's. He admired the clocks, which were in brand-new states. He and Stevie looked at the surroundings and walked around the suburban town for hours, admiring all of the old-fashioned clocks that seemed to be everywhere. Then, Abe stopped and looked straight up.

It was the first clock he had ever worked on, it was the clock at the top of St. Conan's Church. He had worked on that clock with a team of men, and at the time he had never been more proud of anything else in all his life. He looked up at it for a very long time as tears built up in his eyes. Suddenly, the sky began to get dark, it was as if the darkest of rain clouds were covering the town. He saw a giant crack quickly move down the middle of the church. Abe and Stevie became very frightened. Cracks were beginning to start on the ground and on other buildings.

TICK.

Abe looked to his right, slowly but persistently, he saw a giant black pendulum swinging down from above the clouds.

TOCK.

He and Stevie were in a panic, it swung right passed them. A huge gape in the earth had opened up.

TICK.

Stevie had fallen in, he tried to grab the ledge, and missed. Abe saw him fade away into the hole.

TOCK

Abe lost his footing, fell back grabbed the ledge. He screamed in fear.

TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.

"Hello, my name is Stephen Donner." Stevie said nervously, "Thank God, you're here. Maybe you can make some sense of this." said the nurse from behind the counter. Stevie and the nurse traveled down a brightly lit corridor. The nurse began, "This man was found ranting and yelling on a neighborhood street. We've had him here for the last few hours, he has been screaming your name in the middle of his ravings."

Stevie looked in the small window at the top of a door, inside he saw a padded room and the screaming man the nurse had been talking about. Steve was very shaken. He whispered, "That's Abe, a man I've been good friends with. He works with me at, Barnie Brother's Clocks....he hasn't been good at all lately, he would sometimes trail off and mutter incoherent words, here and there. I had thought he was developing Alzheimer's or some sort of schizophrenia".

"Well, thank you for coming down", the caring nurse said, "At least now we know who he is.", "It's no problem at all, I'm glad I could help. He was a good man."

Stevie walked back to his car and exhaled deeply, knowing he would never have his friend back.... but to Abe: They were still in 1940.


	2. The Burning Future by Dave Belas

The Burning Future

by: Dave Belas

In Transylvania, there was an old peddler with white hair. William was his name. He had a ragged face and wore dirty, baggy clothing. He lived in a one room apartment out in the middle of the woods. He was once a wealthy businessman until he went crazy one day at work. He was getting ready to finish his taxes, when suddenly he smashed a paperweight into his colleagues head. He was then arrested for murder and he served his time. When he got out of jail, he was 45, and he figured he would do something productive with his life. He chose to make clocks. He spent years mastering the art of making clocks. He made all different types of clocks, from tall slender clocks, to short, wide clocks. When he was 50, he thought that he had just about maximized his skills.

A year later, he left his shack in the woods and moved to an apartment just above a shop. He rented out the whole building. He then opened the shop where he would sell his clocks. His business was at first slow, but then the town had begun to marvel at his work. With the newly acquired fame, William figured he would have to better his clocks. So, he began to make clocks out of different materials. He made some out of metal, some out of plastic, and some out of silver. The new clocks then became a fad. People could not get enough of them. This worried William because he would have to work harder to make his clocks better.

On the 13th of July, a rich woman walked into his shop. She had flowing blonde hair and the face of a goddess. William stared in awe as she walked towards him. Suddenly, her facial expression became very stern. She went up to William and she scowled at him saying how his clocks were terrible and that he was a fake. "You bought all these clocks, you don't even know how to make a clock!" said the woman. "I am going to tell the whole town that you are a fake! You will be put out of business forever!" she scowled. William became enraged with anger. Then suddenly, a force came over him and he attacked the woman. He began to beat her with his bare hands. With each intense blow, her face slowly began to cave in. After twenty minutes of non-stop beating, William finally stopped. He then realized what he had done and that he must get rid of the body.

He knew that people were going to come looking for her because he figured she had family in the town. He picked up the shattered remains of her and brought them in the back of his shop. He stared at them for about forty minutes when he had an idea. "I've got the most ingenious idea" he said. "I will take this body and make it into a clock!" William then propped the body up on a table and began to shear the skin off the body. He then proceeded to cut the body into pieces. He then sorted the pieces according to size.

He then took the skinless torso of the body and used that for the frame. He then took two fingers and used them for the hands on a clock. He used the hair of the woman for the numbers. To complete the clock, he installed gears and a motor to make the clock work.

Having finished making the clock, he marveled at what he just created. He became completely obsessed with the clock. He came to the conclusion that he must start to make more of these clocks.

The next day, he prepared himself to make another clock. Under the counter, he hid an axe. His plan was to attack a person who was alone. About noon the next day, a middle aged man came walking in. He approached William and said "My lord, you make such marvelous clocks!" "Thank you" William replied. "Want to see my latest work?" William asked. "Of course" the gentleman said. "It's right here" William said. He then reached under the counter and grabbed the axe. He suddenly plunged the axe into the mans head. Blood splattered all over Williams face and over the walls.

William then took the body into the back room and began his clock making process. This clock was a grandfather clock with human parts on it. He took the remainder of the face and put it on the face of the clock. He then put the arms where they belong and the legs where they belong. He then came to the realization that he just made a man out of a clock. William then became adventurous.

For a year, William experimented with many different types of clocks. He made over 300 clocks that year. After gaining experience with his new "craft" he decided it was time for his final project, the human clock.

William found a clock about the size of an apple and he thought he would try to implant this clock into his body and wire it to his heart. This way, when his heart would beat, the second hand would move and thus give him the time. A very sick idea but William was after all…crazy.

On the 31st of October, William decided it was time to perform the surgery. He gave himself morphine to assure himself he wouldn't feel all the pain. He took a rusty knife and cut a hole in the center of his chest. He removed the chunk of flesh he just cut out and threw it on the floor. He then took the probes on the end of the clock and wired them to his heart. He then placed the clock in the hole and stitched himself up. As simple as it sounds, it worked! His surgery was complete as of 11:30 a.m.

William was amazed at the fact that his surgery was a success. At 11:45 he ran to the center of town to tell everyone. He started shouting how he has achieved a medical mystery and that he was going to be famous. Of course, no one believed him because he was known to be a crazy peddler. He ranted for about ten minutes trying to convince everyone, and then went home after no one believed him.

Doing more research on his procedure, William realized a major flaw in his operation. After attaching the clock, his heart would stop beating after the 24 hour cycle. That meant he would die at 11:30 a.m. on November 1st.

For twelve hours he labored away trying to find a way to fix his error. This brought the time to 11: 55 p.m. on October 31st. To his demise, he couldn't find a way to reverse the process. If he took the probes off, he would cause a murmur in his heart and he would die. He then fell asleep for six hours. This brought the time to 5:55 a.m. on November 1st. He awoke with much fear. There had to be a way, he thought to himself.

Again, William labored trying to find a way to fix his error. Still, he couldn't find a way. The time on the clock became 11:10 a.m. William began to grow very nervous. He stared at the clock for a minute or two then he made a daring move out of desperation. He wound the hands on the clock back. After he let go of the clock, the hands on the clock began to spiral backwards.

The time became 11:30 and William found himself still alive. He figured he had just made an error and that he wouldn't die. He then got ready to leave his shop to go and find something to eat. He got his coat and hat and put them on. He then opened the door and proceeded outside. When he went outside he noticed something most bizarre.

William was in the middle ages. "What the devil?" William asked. "This can't be, I discovered a Time travel method?!?" "I must tell someone!" he said. William then ran all over trying to find a place to tell someone. He then found a small village.

He approached the village and told someone that he invented a way to travel through time. Everyone in the village stared at him blankly. They then summoned the knights to come take him away. William was then taken to the castle of the king.

"You have been brought before me because I have received complaints of your menacing behavior" the King said. "I invented a time travel method. I can prove it" William said. "TAKE HIM AWAY!" the King said. William was then thrown into a jail cell.

Later that night he was approached by a man and was read his last rights. "At dawn, you are to be hung by the neck until dead" the man said. "I didn't do anything wrong I tell you, I didn't!" William said. "I have to find a way back!" William thought to himself. The first thing he tried to do was move the hands on the clock in his chest. He did so……nothing happened. He then repeated that…..nothing happened.

Dawn slowly approached. The executioner came and took William out of his cell and brought him to the gallows.

The noose was then placed over William's neck and he was asked if he had anything else to say. "One day, you will all see the mistake you are making" he said. The executioner then pulled the lever and the floor dropped beneath William's feet. He thrashed for a few minutes then became still.

When he was taken down, the executioner brought his body to a field to be buried. When he was going to put the body in the hole, he noticed a lump in William's chest. He opened his shirt and saw that there was a clock in his chest. "Oh my, what have we done?" the man said. He then stared at the clock in William's chest. The clock stopped at 11:30, on November 2nd.


	3. Manditory Expiration by John Sokolowski

Mandatory Expiration 11:36 p.m.

by: John Sokolowski

At seven in the morning Mr. Yoskasiev got up to face the day, that is, every day except for the Sabbath. He worked as a pawn for a company known as Comp-u-Tec based in Negroville RI, which made tools of witchcraft for that of the world. In his spare time he played chess at the local park with the other old-timers and kicking ass and taking names in Counter Strike Source. He was the 65 year old version of FPS Doug, and he loved getting head shots just as much, oh did he long for those magnificent headshots. Oh yeah, Mr. Y, he also made clocks or something at the shop on Polski Street by the Quizno's.

One day he was doing TPS reports or whatever at Comp-u-Tec when he thought to himself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I just another expendable tool of the system? I could be making those clocks at my shop. You know what? I'm talking to myself again." Then he took his meds.

One week later he went into work with a standard military issued M16A2 carbine with a grenade launcher. He was going to blow his boss, Mr. Glogna, to fucking pieces. That son of a bitch had been asking Mr. Y for the TPS reports for weeks. Mr. Y used to wonder what the hell a TPS report is, and then he realized he frankly didn't give a shit, especially if he was planning on killing his boss and ditching that shit hole.

As he walked into the office Mr. Glogna said "So, Glenn, you got those TPS reports?" Mr. Yoskasiev turned the safety off and quickly planned the situation out. He was going to do something far beyond a headshot; he was going to get the cumshot.

"I got you're fucking TPS reports right here asshole." BAM, a 5.56x45 mm round in Glogna's foot. He could see that Glogna was uncaring of his fate. A pawn for a pawn, Glogna knew he was a tool, and had been perverted by the system into accepting it.

"Go ahead Glenn, pull the trigger. Just remember, the pen is mightier than the sword." Mr. Glogna fell to his knees and smashed his watch on the ground so the guys at the technical department couldn't have his Rolex.

"Some say the pen is mightier than the sword…" Mr. Y said, he popped up the crosshairs for the anti-armor attachment and put his finger on the trigger. "Well I say fuck the pen, 'cause you can die by the sword!"

The shell blasted into Mr. Glogna's face where it would explode one tenth of a second later. Bits of human flesh and chunks of man covered the room, and the first deed was done.

Mr. Yoskasiev pulled out his to do list and crossed off killing his dumbass boss. Next on the list was to open his clock shop early. The trip was fairly uneventful. Nobody at Comp-u-Tec seemed to care about Mr. Glogna murder, except Janitor Frank. Brain matter does not come easily off walls, but it was Friday so he left it for the night guy, Bill. Bill thought that Frankenstein was a more significant figure in history than Stalin; Bill was also legally retarded, as is anybody else with that opinion.

When Mr. Yoskasiev got to his shop, Clocks Ahoy!, he noticed a couple of minorities hanging outside. He decided to offer them jobs; they refused and decided to call him a few offensive names. So Mr. Y took them out Valentine's Day Massacre style, lined up to the wall and executed. Lazy spooks.

A law enforcement officer, Officer Joe Pesci, came over after noticing the brain matter all over the street. "Hey, don't you know it's illegal to shoot spooks in public? What are you trying to say with this terrible violence?"

Mr. Y replied "I'm saying that when the President does it, that means it's not illegal!" He then invited Officer Joe in for tea and crumpets. Officer Joe walked out happy, full, and with a new grandfather clock with chrome plating and a sick transmission.

After about a month Mr. Yoskasiev had a couple fine young men working at his store front, while the young women did stuff like riveting in back. All was well for years, until that day came. December seventh, year 2010. He had reached Ground Zero; he would soon defeat his enemy, the Great Satan.

All was normal, until Mr. Yoskasiev noticed shockwaves in a dinosaur footprint out side, and then he heard it, the roaring. He sprinted to the front of the store and looked out the window, it was coming. He sounded the siren and watched his workers prepare for the worse. He ripped his trusted M16A2 off the wall, checked for ammo levels, and turned the safety off. Two of his male workers got on the turret at the top of the shop, while the rest did like, stuff.

The first explosion went off, then another. The roaring continued, only it had gotten significantly louder. Then he heard he saw it. The green dragon at 12 o'clock high, only about 1000 feet up. He could hear the flak cannon at the top of his shop being fired; hopefully a lucky shot would be made in time. A lone caucasian male sprinted down the street, running from the flying beast. A flash of yellow, and small cloud of red, and the man was down, raped upon his death bed. Mr. Y finally gained the strength to yell at the top of his lungs "Zekes! Incoming!"

The Japs had done it again, well the bad ones at least. Don't get be wrong there are a lot of nice Japanese people, whatever it's fiction. World War Three had broken out, and he was in the second Pearl Harbor. Mr. Y knew what was to become, a day of air raids, then the Japs' closest ally would invade with ground based attacks.

Mr. Y took his rifle and killed every single Jap to the last one with headshot that day. The streets were littered with shot down Japanese Zeros and bombers. He told his workers to go like somewhere else; he'd take care of the ground force with his newest creation. Mr. Y went back into his bombed out shop and into the fallout basement hundreds of feet beneath the Earth's surface. There it was, maple wood with brass parts. His greatest clock ever made counting the minutes of eternity. 12:00, midnight. He set the clock back to about 11:50 p.m. and watched the capacitor warm up. He left the clock and traveled back to the surface and waited.

January 12th, 2011, 1:44 a.m. The squeaks could be heard in the distance, slowly approaching. Mexicans. The bad kind that come to the United States to sell crack and whatnot. They were charging the country, and for some reason Rhode Island was the front line. Mr. Y knew he could not pull off enough sweet domes to stop the ground force of the Mexikreig, Mexican warfare. He sat in his shop quietly and watched the tanks pass for days, and then it happened. He heard his allies approach from a foreign time.

The tanks stood no chance against nature's tanks. They were obliterated, OLD STYLE. With the swing of the clubbed tale the tanks were destroyed, their incendiary rounds had no affect on these war machines. They weren't war machines, they were the Euoplocephali. Next came the Giganotosaurs, then the Iguanodons, and the prehistoric sloths. The Axis was screwed over, big time.

When the war was over Mr. Yoskasiev sent his prehistoric pals back to the past. Now that WWIII was over Mr. Y could go back to capping bitches in Counter Strike. All was well on Earth, until that plane ride.

It was a warm day in August when Mr. Y got on his plane to the Motherland; he was going to visit his favorite radio personality, Vasili Mevidshev. The plane ride was uneventful until the pilot announced the horrid news.

"This is your captain speaking, I just thought that you might want to know that we got mother fucking snakes on this plane, and boy have I had it with them." They were screwed; Sammy J. Blackson was busy working on Star Wars Episode 12: Khan's Revenge. He looked to his left, it was Tom Hanks.

"Hi I'm Tom Hanks, and I couldn't give less of a shit who you are." Tom Hanks got up, punched through the floor of the plane, pulled out a snake, and consumed it. He was very pissed off, as he had been living in a terminal for the past couple weeks. Tom Hanks then planted a C4 charge at the side of the plane, blew a hole in the plane, and hopped out it. Tom Hanks doesn't need a parachute, he was in the Castaway.

Mr. Y looked around the plane, he noticed Richard Simmons, Al Roker, and Martha Stuart were all on the plane with him, and so was that Chinese dude from Law & Order: SVU. He had a brief sexual fantasy, and then realized just how screwed he was. Then the Captain got on the intercom. "This is your captain again, yeah, so, snakes, some black clown from coach said he took care of them. He said they were put there by the man. Yeah. Oh look we're in Moscow now."

Mr. Y lived in Moscow for a bit. He became the first man to build a clock worth of being put on the Kremlin Wall. He did get to meet the radio personality, and later got a job making clocks for the station. As the clocks ticked away so did Mr. Y's time on Earth. He looked back at his years on Earth and wondered about his decisions, whether he had done the right thing or not. He realized how important human life was and how we must respect it more, and how we cannot just rape our planet of its resources and life. We must treasure every day and every moment, ever tic of Father Time's clock must be cherished, and we must use every tic as best we can.

On November 26th in the year 2021 Mr. Yoskasiev destined fate finally reached him. He had cherished life so much he decided he wanted to revisit the past, and revisit his past life experiences. He had finished his 10,000th clock and was very tired. He marveled at his creation and sat down outside his shop. He watched the world go by him, just like the minute hand on a clock, forever whether you notice it or not. He had finally been discovered and his fate was sealed. Midnight that night Mr. Yoskasiev was arrested for child pornography.


	4. The Clockworkers by Nick Polansky

THE CLOCKWORKERS

by: Nick Polansky

clocks are a hell of a thing to do in this world. I spend all my time on clocks. I am damn near sick of clocks. I wake up. Clocks. I go to sleep. Clocks. I fucking hate clocks. I often ask myself, why am I a clock repairman? It was a poor job choice if u ask me. Ive been working on clocks since I was a small boy. My father, the great master of clock repairing, was not only the greatest clock man of his time, but he was a horrible father. he was abusive, and I still remember vividly me and my sister hiding in the little cuppoard beneath the stairs from him and his anger problems. One day, especially, he had gotten laid off down at the local store. He came in through the back door so we couldn't run, and he just started beating my mother with a crowbar. Me and my sister, isabel, ran into the cuppoard so he couldnt find us. It was our safe spot. He was piss drunk at the time too which didnt help much in our situation. I still rmeber him calling us. "little girl? LITTLE GIRL?". I was scared for my life.

Well after a few long years of this horrible lifestyle, my sister and I ran off. We got into my dads car and just drove away. She had just gotten her license the previous week. She had only wanted to get her license so she could escape with me. She was like my mother, as my real mother didnt say a word to anyone about my fathers abuse, and we just couldnt take it anymore. She was just as bad as him for not saying anything. So we just drove. For days. My sister had saved enough money to get to nebraska in our little 1968 chevy sedan. I was 12 at the time, and already I had lived life sorrows enough to know that life isnt a dream, like they make other children my age like to believe. Ive seen horrible things. They say it was the clock work that made my father so mad. I can understand. Just adjusting gears all day every day for years, and then having to come home to a bitter wife and two kids. Well , its a living he used to say, especially right before he used to beat us.

Well like they say like father like son, and I was on the same path of life. at the age of 17, I got a job as a clock repairman at the local general store. I figured I could handle it better than my dad, and I knew enough about it because when my father wasnt beating us he was teaching us how to use clocks. I knew everything about clocks, inside and out. I could tell you the number of switches on a rollenhymer 4 series, with chromatic timepieces. That was the only way I could make my father proud. My sister became a prostitute at the age of 20, and that was the last I ever saw of her. I still remember the day she left. It was an autumn day, and the leaves were blowing through our yard. We lived in our cousins suburban house, with yellow windowsills and white paint on the house. The driveway was made of cobblestone and seemed to go on forever towards the street. One day, after getting into an argument with our cousins wife, she just got into a taxi, and drove away. I didnt hear anyting until 4 months later saying she had been arrested in a prostitution sting and I was her contact for bail. I decided to let her stay in jail. She abandoned me. I dont blame her though. However bad I had it, she had it 10 times worse. The scars were all over her face from the hot irons our father used to hit us with. I never got it as bad as her.

I remember the day got the letter about my fathers death. He had been killed in a train accident. I guess he had gotten drunk, probably at the local bar he frequents, rowdys. He spent almost all of his free time there. It was a filthy disgusting place, full of all the trash humanity has to offer. Whores, bikers, even the occasional cult leader were all frequent patrons of rowdys. I still remember the day my dad dragged me into the bar because he couldnt leave me at home, for fear of me running away. It smelled like fresh piss. The smell was so powerful that it could kill an elephant from a mile away. The bathroom was the worst place ive ever seen. Smelled like a piece of puke. The beer served there was only good enough to drink, not to enjoy, as my father learned the night of his death. He had gotten drunk as usual, and instead of taking his keys like a decent honest bartender, they just let him go into the night. He had parked on some train tracks, and passed out. Te next thing he knew his brains were splattered all over the amtrak railways engine car. He didnt even feel a thing, the lucky bastard. Ironically, the way they found his time of death was by looking at his watch, which he had fixed just earlier that day. When I finished reading the letter, I didnt feel a thing. No sadness, no happiness. Not a thing. Like if my father were some complete stranger on the television who had been murdered. no. not even that. At least then I would feel some pity. He doesnt deserve any emotion.

The year after my fathers death, my mother died. She died of caner, a quite uneventful death. I went to her funeral, which is something I cannot say of my fathers, and it was a nice service, and I felt a little bit melancholy I did not get a chance to say goodbye, but she deserved to die too, for letting me and my sister go through what we did.

The month after my mothers death, I decided it was time to open a buisness of my own. I found a nice little shack located behind the big walmart in my town. It was a steal too. Dirt cheap. It had some electrical problems, but they were easily fixable. So I purchased the place. It took me a few months of painstaking labor and a few thousand dollars of materials to make it a nice wokring place, but after 6 months of work, Clocks inc. was finally open. Buisness started out well, as I was in my fathers old territory, and I received most of his buisness. I was making good money I guess, and I had decided that it was time to expand. So I purchased my fathers old store and renamed it clocks 2. I was making enough money to just come in once or twice a week, and rely on my employees for the rest. I did this for about 2 years, until a very special man came in through the door. There was not much special about him at the time. He was a tall man, at least 6 feet, and quite thin. He wore a cowboy hat, with a plaid shirt, and working boots. He had a thick texas accent, and a fair complexion. Almost as if you had mixed cuba gooding junior with clint eastwood. He was an older man, had to be in at least his late 50's. He came up to me at the counter, and I asked him what he was looking for. He told me he was looking for a man named mike case( in case I hadnt told you yet, my name is mike. I just didnt think it was important up until now). I had changed my last name after my father had died, and I dont know how this man had found this out, but I promptly told him he had found his man. I didnt know what to expect. I thought he may had been one of my fathers old gambling buddies who had come by to collect a debt, but I guess he was here on more important matters. "your needed", he said. Thats all. He left me a card with a number on it, and he just left the store. I looked at the number. Io had never seen it before. I just put it in my desk and called it a day. After I got him, I decided to try and relax. I kicked off my shoes and put on the big game., it was the bengals versus the lions. A pretty bad matchup, but I still wanted to watch. I had been a lions fan ever since I can remember. But anyway, as the second half neared, the card came back into my head. What was that number? Why was I "needed"? I had to find out.

I got back to the store around 11 pm, and I looked at the card again, before puling out my cell phone and calling it. It rang a few times, and then a sweet womanly voice picked up on the other end. She sounded very tired, and asked who was calling. I told her who it was, and she suddenly got very serious and asked me how I got this number.i told her what had happened, and she told me shed be down in the morning to explain. I told her to come down whenever, and I went back home. As I was pulling into my driveway, I noticed something wasnt right. Two big black vans were parked in the street outside of my house. I just assumed it was something to do with the neighbors, but before I could get out of my car the windows in my car were shattering and I felt myself getting very disorientated. I passed out and the next thing i knew I was in a moving car and I couldnt see anything. I head some guys speaking in a language I dont know, and then I started yelling where was I and how did I get here, I felt a hand touch my head and the blindfold was yanked off my head. A man with big beady brown eyes looked me in the eyes and told me " your needed ". wow I didnt need to know that again. But I figured if they wanted me dead id be dead already so I just sat there. A few minutes later I could feel us pulling into something, and the van suddenly stopped. The back doors flew open and I was thrown outside onto the pavement. The man with the cowboy hat was there too, along with a woman, presumably the one from the phone call. I could hear them talking about me, and how I wasnt ready. I yelled out to them asking what I was needed here for, and they just looked at me and continued talking. All of a sudden I was tired again and I passed out again. I woke up in a room tied to a metal chair. The walls were close and concrete. A man came in, a new one, and sat down across from me, in a chair he had brought in. he told me I was needed. "WHAT am I NEEDED for?!" I yelled at him. He told me the whole story. "There is a man whom we are going to call, the great casper. He has a device which can turn back time. He must be stopped" . I laughed at him. " are you insane?" I asked, but he just looked at me again and threw a file on my lap. With my free hand I opened the file ans started looking through it. The name of the file was "the clockworker", and its center piece was a big picture of my fathers face. " is this a joke?" I asked, now in a more serious tone. My father had been a spy for the russian government, and he has used his master knowledge of clocks to build them a device to go back in time, and I was the one man who could stop it.

At first I was very reluctant. I wanted nothing to do with this whole plan. I had a good life. Quiet, peaceful, all a man could ever want. But I knew deep in my heart that I had to correct my fathers wrongs, no matter how much I hated him. He was family, and nothing can destroy that. So I let them suit me up. The plan was for me to go undercover as a protege clockworker in their organization. I didnt see how it would work, but it had too. According to this man in the room with me, the device was powerful enough to kill us all. I didnt have much evidence I guess, but knowing my father, this was true. When asked, the man with the file was part of an organization of clock workers called the CBS, or clock broker services, which is a front for clock trading. I didnt care much about his organization, even though he had no problems rambling on about their good work in the world. He first part of the plan was to get me in. they set up a fake set of credentials with my photo plastered all over it. I could use my old name, as it was an alias anyway, and all I had to do was act natural. How does a spy act natural I dont know, but id have to learn quick. I was shipping out tomorrow. They were going to drop me off in moscow. The clock capital of the world.

I woke up early the next day, around 4 am, and I got suited up quickly. They put me on the plane, and we were off. They were going to debrief me on a more need to know basis. On the plane, they gave me a gun, and a fake ID. They told me all the things I would have to do, and all the situations where my knowedge of clocks would come in use. I took some bendryl after the briefing and when I woke up we had landed in moscow. All I knew was I had to call in by tomorrow at noon for further instructions, and that I had to meet a man named beznik at the airport. I got off the plane, and I walked down the terminal. For a modern airport, the smell was horrible, like rotten eggs, and the view was depressing. Grey walls, grey floors. Everyone looked angrry and vilent. I felt very out of place. So I went to information services and found beznik, nicknamed bez. Bez was an american agent with russian connections. He told me all about the clockworkers and how they were planning on destroying the world, at least the part they were not located in. they were one of the many terrorist groups to come out of the soviet era, and had a deep hatred of all things western. These people were the vodka . Drink till you die types. I dont know how I would fit in as anything other than the outcast american, but I guess that was my father too. I knew my father well enough to act like him, as much as I hated it.

The next day, after bez had given me a good russian breakfast, I was off to my new job. A terrorist clock worker. They had set me up with one of their inside guys and got me a job with them. They were told I was an expatriot and I had deep anti american values. I guess they dont check their facts, and I was in pretty quick. I knew I couldnt ask about the device, as I wasnt even supposed to know about it. So I just did normal things for a few weekd. The usual. Get coffee, take orders for lunch, fix watched. Common clockworker shit. After about a month of th is, I was called in of a special task. I had proven myself in the clock affairs, and I guess they were ready to "let me in" on their device. I guess that the device was broken, and they needed me to fix it, as they hadnt had someone as skilled as me since my father died. It was a simple problem to me, although they never would have caught it. The rotary timer was chipped, and I noticed instantly. All it needed was a new rotary, and it would be fine. I told them a different story however, about how it needed a new terminal gauge, and they believed me and put it on order. I called in to Bez, and I told him the issue. I told him what had happened so far and what needed to be fixed. He told me I did a good job and everything would be fine. I believed him too. The next day I showed up to work at the clockworkers to find the place in ruins. I had gotten caught in traffic and was about 30 minutes late. Everyone was dead. Including Bez. The device was gone. They were going to kill me. I now realized I was merely a pawn in a game much bigger than anything I could imagine. I had lost control. I ran out of there as soon as I realized what had happened, but as soon as I got a block away, everything stopped. Everything went black. It was over.

I woke up in my bed. It was morning. I smelt the smell of fresh crispy bacon cooking on an open skillet, I could hear the sounds of cars driving by. I hadnt opened my eyes yet, as i was surprisingly tired. I just lied there for a good 10 minutes. I was more tired than id ever been in my life. all of a sudden I heard a voice calling my name. The voice sounded very very familiar. I know id heard that voice before. I opened my eyes finally, and I saw nothing but a blank white ceiling. It looked very familiar to me also. I got out of bed and walked towards the voice. Everything seemed very familiar to me. As I walked down the hall towards the voice, I began to realize who it was. I didnt want to believe it, but I kept on walking. I noticed every detail about the hallway as I walked. The walls were lined with that horrible ugly wood paneling often found in suburban homes, and the floors were a cold merciless linoleum which was like ice on my bare feet. The light above me was bright and painful, especially to my recently awoken eyes. I walked into the room with the voice. "have u been asleep all this time?" the voice said. I looked at the person with terror in my eyes. It was my 14 year old sister, sitting at the dining room table with my mother and father. The device had worked, but no one would ever believe me.


	5. I Am a Sundial by Cody Lord

I AM A SUNDIAL

by Cody Lord

And so did the ocean's lullaby did wake me, along with the lilting glow of an eager sun. Upon the rocks, I did sleep and lie; among the vessel, and her lowly deck.

Forgotten now, to toss and turn.

A lost ship.

A ghost ship.

A lonely dame, wed to the sea.

And faithful.

So many times, and long before.

A jovial sun upon my face did shine.

With merry men, and sailors alike

Waking to the morning bell.

But, now that time is surely gone.

With the crashing, and wrath

Of a single stone, they so did fell

Remaining here, the moor of my lovely craft

Remnants of a forgotten age.

But, I remember them.

For I have been to every shore

Babylon , Atlantis, the Caribbean

They were all there with me

I was so glad.

They were so glad.

All together, so glad, with me.

They, are now lost

To the fickle and raging

Fell greedy, and selfish into

The forgotten depths, in search of treasure

Deeper than any reflection knows.

But I remain.

Though, through the years

Many men did I see

Pillage and plunder

This bountiful wreck

Leaving nothing here

But me.

I am the current.

I am the tides.

My heart is the sun.

Time, my ally.

They live and die by me.

They breathe and rot by me.

I am their master, they my slave

They slumber and stumble by me.

A forgotten king.

An abandoned king.

Left here among the ruin of my ship

Forever in debt to the timeless sea

Until the sun does cease to shine,

And the world does cease to spin,

I am a sundial

And by the ocean I sleep


End file.
